


Do You Remember?

by SariWrites



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, and the pain begins, fakir stop being such a self sacrificial sweetheart omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SariWrites/pseuds/SariWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months pass after Fakir and Ahiru the duck watch Rue and Prince Siegfried fly away to their happily ever after. Which leaves Fakir to live up to his promise of staying by Ahiru's side forever. But as time passes, Fakir begins to think.<br/>Is he really enough for her to be happy?<br/>What would really make her happiest?</p><p>A deal waits for him in the darkness...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I want you to be happy...

Seven months.

Fakir stood in the clock tower as he looked toward the sky. A content little duck was nestled into the crook of his arm as the shadow passed overhead. He kept his eyes on the chariot that soared overhead behind a pair of glorious swans. A shock of raven dark hair appeared over the back, a hand raising high to wave farewell as Rue gleefully smiled back at them.

And then the chariot was gone. Mytho, no, Prince Siegfried went home with Rue, his new bride and princess.

Life carried on. The release of narrative magic on the town repaired all the damage it caused and effortlessly stole certain memories. Animals were back to their normal forms, both human and beast, in such a way that Fakir had to squint to remember what some used to be. He thought he saw Neko-sensei as an actual cat with a trail of kittens once. If so, he’d be happy that the cat finally found his bride.

But what stood out the most to him was the way people unconsciously took note of things that were different. Mostly, the way Ahiru’s friends would walk with a space between them. They’d talk and laugh and then pause, looking between each other curiously before shrugging. And when Fakir would witness the event, he’d feel his constant companion shift uncomfortably. But as soon as he’d look at her she’d smile up at him in her own duckish way.

They tried their best to ignore their town’s constant inner question.

‘ _Was it always like this?_ ’

Fakir knew the truth. The truth of the Raven’s wrath. The truth of a girl’s sorrow. The truth of a boy’s struggle to be so much with his great heart. The truth of a little duck that gave nearly everything to save those she loved. His truth…

He carried it with him when he woke in the morning, the small yellow duck sleeping soundly on his pillow. He carried it with him to breakfast, where Charon would gleefully feed her bread and watercrest salads at the table. He carried it to school, where Ahiru would happily splash in the fountain while Fakir attended his classes. And it always stayed with him when he tried to relax at the lake, journal and pen, fishing pole in hand.

No one else remembered the truth.

*

Five months.

Ahiru quietly wept in his room at Fakir’s news. No matter how much he searched, he finally came to the conclusion that they’d never see Uzura again. The little drummer girl had disappeared when they defeated the Raven. He figured that she must have disappeared with the story. He couldn’t find a trace of her anywhere, much like memories. Fakir stroked her downy feathers in comfort, listening as she cried for the loss of a friend. Carefully lifting Ahiru to his cheek, he gently nuzzled her, reminding her that he would always be there for her.

And when she turned her glossy blue eyes at him, he looked back with the fondest of smiles.

“Always.”

For the next couple weeks she was sullen at the fountain. Fakir would hear his classmates whisper about his ‘pet’ and how sad it seemed. And every so often he caught someone cooing at her and feeding her at the fountainside. Standing in the shadow of the building, he would watch as people lavished her with attention and treats. And then, when she was done, she would give her little duckish smile, and flap over the edge of the fountain. Trotting over to him with eyes aglow and tummy full, Ahiru nuzzled and tugged at his pants leg, asking to be picked up. As he carried her home Ahiru plops a small grape into his hand from where she held it in her beak. And he couldn’t help but chuckle over the sweet offering.

*

Four months.

For the first time since he danced with Ahiru in the lake of despair, Fakir felt the first pang of regret. He walked out of the school building to Pique and Lillie sitting at the fountain, cooing over the little duckling that sat in Pique’s lap. Ahiru stared up at her friends with such a look of longing that his heart seized at the familiarity. So many words danced behind her eyes, forever unspoken, as if she’d disappear if she spoke them. The pair were so close yet so far. Fakir had prayed he would never see that expression again. But he found he may have been cursed with it instead as he witnessed it again and again.

Fakir promised her. He did. She could be as she is and he would accept her no matter what form she took. They were pillars of strength for each other. Equal shoulders to lean on. They were everything to each other and more, in his own heart. They made what their lots were in life ‘enough.’

But seeing the way she looked at her friends, his heart clenched.

Was Fakir foolish to think he was enough?

Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard drumbeats.

And laughter.

His hand ached.

*

In the night, Fakir woke to the shadows.

A familiar voice called out to him in the darkness, gleefully begging him for a moment. Just a bit of his time.

“I can help you. I can help _her_...”

Fakir rose from his bed, heart stopping for a moment at the way the little duck sat frozen on his pillow. He strained his ears for the sound of her breathing, the ticking of the clock to mark the time. But there was neither. The clock was frozen as well. The world beyond his window lay eerily silent as not even the stars twinkled above.

Stepping out of the house, his ears caught the sound of drumbeats. Fakir turned his head toward the familiar tune, only for it to be drowned out by raucous laughter at his left. It whispered and cajoled and faded down the path as if they were leaving. And he couldn’t let it. Not after what they said.

_“Help her…”_

Fakir found himself running headlong down the paths. Turning corners at every chuckle. Whirling about to catch the drummer. Tripping over cobblestones in bewilderment as laughter and steady beats rioted in his ears, leading him back and forth until he was ready to scream.

“ _Save_ her…”

“Help her…”

“Only you…”

_“Your promise…”_

Voices were whispering to him from every shadow in the night.

Finally his knees hit the ground, his legs unable to hold him up anymore as he clutched at his ears. His panting was harsh under the moonlight and he watched the sweat drip down his nose. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, too caught up in emotions and worries to see the clear path.

_What did he want?_

“ _Fakir…_ ”

His head snapped up, sweat whipping from his bangs as his eyes locked onto the vision before him. Fakir sucked in a breath as he took in the shock of orange-red hair neatly tucked away into her hair piece. The graceful column of her throat. The delicate arch of her outstretched arms that framed the dip of her costume. The feathery flare. The slim legs that ended in red shoes.

But her eyes.

His gaze traced back to her eyes, drawn in indefinitely by her kind smile and gentle glow. She leaned toward him, hand outstretched to him in invitation. He watched the other hand lightly touch upon her bare collarbone. Drumbeats echoed his doubts.

_Was she really real?_

A jolt rushed through him when she pulled back, curling into herself at his possible rejection. The look on her face of pained longing and sorrow squeezed the breath out of him. And then she leapt away, shattering his doubts in the process.

“AHIRU!” he found himself screaming, unaware of the sound of his feet slamming against the ground as he launched after her.

She whirled at his voice, but continued to run. He swore he saw tears drop from her face. This wasn’t right. He didn’t hate her! He didn’t want to NOT see her!

“Ahiru, PLEASE! _WAIT_!”

But she simply leaped around a corner, hand to her mouth to muffle a sob.

He still heard it.

He’d hear it forever it seemed.

Fakir turned the corner so fast he slid, hips and ribs and shoulders meeting the ground so hard he was left dazed. He struggled to lift himself, bracing his hand against the ground and gasping at how it ached. Trembling, panting, he pulled himself to his knees, focused on finding her. Holding her. Telling her how much he…

“ _Ahiru…_ ” he groaned.

Feathers rustled up ahead and he could hear tiny splashes. Looking around, he knew he was near the lake he liked to fish and write at. Of course she would lead him to their spot. He had to get to her. Unsteady on his feet, he ran.

When he entered the clearing by the water’s edge, he could barely see a shock of yellow floating in the water under the moon. The sight left him frozen. Just moments before... Wasn’t she? Was there something he was supposed to have done and he failed? Failed _her_ ? Was she doomed to forever be a duck, away from those she cared for? What had he _done_?

_What could he do?_

The laughter came back, drawing his attention to the shadow of the trees as large glowing eyes stared back into his soul. They laughed and laughed and _laughed_ and still the small duck floated quietly on the water.

“Ahiru-”

“What will you do?”

“What?”

Fakir turned and found an old man suddenly standing face to face with him. His eyes were wide and red and gleeful. Drosselmeyer waited for an answer. And Fakir’s hand _ached_.

“I-”

“She was so close you know. To being human again.”

Fakir swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

“All she needed… Was you. But you were too slow.”

He could feel his eyes burning, his head throbbing, his hand absolutely pulsing with pain. And there were drumbeats in the distance, at the edge of Drosselmeyer’s voice.

“There’s still a chance…”

“Tell me!” Fakir immediately demanded, his distrust of the dead man fading at the urgency to help Ahiru. The beat of the drums were lost in the deafening rush of blood in his ears.

And yet the man still chuckled, abruptly turning away to stroll to the lake’s edge. Fakir carefully followed, finding it difficult to keep watch on the man and not stare at the forlorn yellow shape on the water either. There had to be a way to truly help her....

“I’ll make you a deal,” the dead man drawled. “The phrase is quite true… Dead men tell no tales. Not proper ones at least.”

Fakir took a step back, eyeing his ancestor warily.

“I want you to take over the story.”

“You want me to what? There’s _no story_!” Fakir nearly choked on the last word as those eyes turned on him again.

“There’s always a story my son…”

A rebuttal rose in Fakir’s throat, his mouth opening even as Drosselmeyer’s grin spread across his face.

“You see, little author,” he continued, “everyone has a story and a destiny. And little Ahiru here had her own as well-”

“To disappear into light?”

“-Until you snatched her away from me.”

Fakir fell quiet, his mouth drying out in seconds.

“She was meant for great things,” Drosselmeyer went on. “But you selfishly took her away without a thought for the consequences. I tried to save her and you _ruined_ it.”

“Y-you tried to drown her in a lake!”

“And you doomed her to being a duck again.”

“Her being a duck is who she is! It’s not a bad thing! You can’t-”

“Can she truly love you like she is?”

“That’s not what this is abo-”

“Can she be with her friends again? Talk to them? Dance with them again like she was so happy to do?”

“She didn’t need all of that, she just-”

“She came from such a simple life. Wake up, eat bugs and plants and bread. Avoid being eaten herself. Goes back to sleep and does it all over again the next day until her little duck life is over. What a droll way of life for such a stunning character.”

“Stop it…” Fakir found his voice suddenly small in his ears.

“I would have let her sleep in the lake. With all her memories and joys.”

“That’s not a life,” Fakir whispered.

“ _Human_ , at least.”

Fakir felt the beginning of rage boil up at the memory of dancing beneath the surface. Her sorrow,, her worry, the way the pain of inadequacy burned behind her big blue eyes.

“She went there because she didn’t feel like she was enough! Because _you_ put those ideas in her head! You bastard, you _dare_ to come to me with this? You don’t know her! You _never_ knew her! That’s why we _beat_ you! You’re _dead_ just leave us alone! She’s happy the way she is. She’s happy with _me_!”

“And you’re all that she needs. You’re enough for the big, gentle heart that became my _Princess Tutu_ …”

Fakir felt as if he was on fire from the way Drosselmeyer called her _his_ Tutu. And yet, he couldn’t hold back the flash of her face when she looked up at Pique and Lillie. His hands clenched into fists, making him hiss at the searing pain as if his wound was new and dripping scarlet again. Drosselmeyer suddenly looked positively smug.

“You can’t change her on your own.”

His voice was like a whispered prayer in Fakir’s ears.

“I hold the key to her humanity. Always have and always _will_.”

Fakir trembled as he turned back to the duck, the shine of her beaky smile contrasting the utter sorrow in her eyes. The flutter of her tiny wings. The warm touch of her soft hand. Her short little legs and webbed feet. The smooth way she danced with him, completely in sync. The warmth of her eyes.

“What do you want from me?” he croaked out.

Drosselmeyer’s form straightened up with delight, speaking loudly over the frantic drumbeats. He watched Fakir’s hands clench and unclench, his entire body shaking as he listened to the requirements. Fakir’s head tilted back to the stars as he took in a breath. And then he turned, eyes hard and determined.

The duckling finally turned her head.

Fakir strode forward, reaching for the letter opener that appeared in Drosselmeyer’s outstretched hand. Without a flinch, he deftly pierced the skin of his palm, almost tracing the scar of the old wound of before. He locked eyes with the dead man as blood beaded up into his hand, ignoring the sound of drumbeats and the splashing of water.  

Drosselmeyer grinned.

Fakir shook his hand.

The coldness of the man’s palm shocked him, rocking him back to reality in time to hear a hoarse scream behind him. Turning, he saw Ahiru standing in the grass, feathers dripping and trembling with her blue eyes wide and terrified. Her head slowly began to turn back and forth, the growing desperation in her eyes leaving him rooted to the spot. He lowered his head as if to look away. But he couldn’t.

“It’s what you deserve,” he whispered.

She lunged forward at that, heart in her throat as her toes caught in the rocks to  pitch her forward into the ground. Snatching his bloody hand away from Drosselmeyer, Fakir made to help her. But her head shot up, piercing him with a look that trapped her name in his throat and froze him back in place.

She stood, watching Fakir tremble as she deftly crossed her wings before flaring them outwards. Ahiru shook her head again as she repeated the gesture, tears streaming down her face as her eyes burned into him.

“You can’t,” came a voice on the wind.

She stepped closer, flapping her wings back and forth as her eyes grew wilder at the sullen dejection on his face. The shadows cackled, followed by a slow drumbeat that paled at the speed their hearts were racing at.

“I had to…” Fakir whispered. “I want you to be happy.”

Ahiru’s eyes clenched shut as she waved her wings so hard she almost took flight.

“You can’t! You _can’t_! You can’t you can’t you ca-”

The bell began to toll.

A webbed foot stepped forward at the first raucous cry of the bell, a sudden pulse filling her tiny body. The second ring made her lurch forward. The third had her running to him. The fourth stopped her an arm’s length away. By the fifth she found herself able to look him in the eye without craning her neck, her little duck body held aloft by soft light.

Magic swirled in the air, gathering around Ahiru even as she kept trying to reach for him. Fakir stepped closer, the sound of the bell filling his head as he watched.

Ahiru was crying.

Even as wings stretched into arms, webbed toes into human feet, her beak melting back into her freckled nose. She was crying. Her feathers melted away as her hair flared behind her, wild and untamed for a brief moment and Fakir caught his breath.

“You can’t!” she cried out. “You _can’t_ ! _Trust_ ! _Him_!”

Fakir flinched back as if slapped. The bell tolled closer to midnight.

“You _CAN’T_!!” she screamed out.

“Please be happy…” Fakir whispered.

Ahiru screamed his name in a broken sob when the light finally overwhelmed her. The bell rung in his ears as an undercurrent to a sound that would burn in his memory for the rest of his lonely life. He fell willingly into the embrace of the magical glow as it seeped into his bones. And then he was truly blind.

After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his bedroom. The ceiling above him as before. The spot next to his pillow colder than before. His bloody hand was sticky and dry. And a voice echoed in his ears.

Somewhere, a drum steadily tapped away in the coming dawn.

 


	2. It'll be ok, son...

It was so quiet.

The silence of his room deafened him.

Fakir sat on his bed just staring at his empty pillow for longer than he could really remember. Images flashed in front of his eyes every time he blinked. 

A glowing figure in dark passageways. 

A blotch of yellow surrounded by so much deep dark blue. 

Red,  _ red _ eyes.  _ Laughing _ at him. 

Long curling hair. Freckled skin. Tears. 

So many tears.

He ran a hand through his bangs as if to brush off the sight of bright blue eyes.

Standing, he walked to his door as if in a trance. The feeling of dried blood between his scarred hand and the doorknob shocking him again, leaving him standing at his door just staring at his palm.

What had he  _ done _ ?

“Fakir?”

Charon’s voice caught him off guard, warning him in time to back away from the door as it swung open. The kindly man’s face peered at him, curiosity turning to concern as he spotted the injured hand Fakir still held up.

“What happened?!”

Fakir couldn’t find the voice to answer, docilely letting the man grab at him and push him toward the washroom for a proper wash and inspection. The coolness of the water only made him think about wet feathers dripping into the grass. The sharp pain of Charon pressing a cloth a little too hard finally brought him back.

“Fakir, I asked if you were okay? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick? How did you hurt yourself? This looks like the same spot you hurt last time, like your hand was run through. Fakir… Fakir?”

Green eyes focused on Charon’s face, taking in how sad he looked. Just like the sad expression of…

“If something is bothering you, you can  _ tell _ me. You know that, right?”

“Right…” Fakir croaked out, his voice sounding painfully hoarse in his own ears.

Charon reached for his good hand, checking it over before gently squeezing. The boy just didn’t look right, as if the worst thing had happened. It reminded him of when he first took him in, quiet and withdrawn. As if he weren’t all the way there.

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.” Charon whispered.

Fakir jerked as if to snatch his hands away, but the old man held fast to his good hand. His eyes were wide and panicked, as if everything in his being were screaming the opposite.

“You have a good heart, son. Whatever it is, I’m sure you had the best intentions. I’m here for you, Fakir. I’m here…”

The way his face contorted, Charon couldn’t stand it. He immediately yanked the boy forward into a fierce hug, noting the way he trembled like a child. Fakir was mumbling something against his chest as stifled sobs slipped between his gritted teeth. Slowly, they lowered to the ground, Fakir’s knuckles turning white as they latched on to the front of Charon’s shirt. The man could only stroke his hair as comfortingly as he could.

“-hates me...” Was all Charon could make out of Fakir’s broken speech.

“Shhhh,” he crooned to the boy. “No one hates you. You have a good heart, and whatever happened is going to be okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you son…”

*

Fakir wasn’t sure what was worse, his empty bedroom or the growing headache that pounded at his temples.

Charon had insisted he stay home. He looked “a horror” and needed to rest. Fakir could give little protest. He was still so unsure about stepping foot back on school grounds.

He couldn’t even think straight anyway, the fear of seeing… It was just too overwhelming.

Something caught his eye to his left.

Ignoring the way his vision swam, Fakir turned his head to the unassuming blue notebook on his bedside. Where did it come from? It wasn’t his. He’d never seen it before, but still his hand was drawn to it. Once in his line of sight, he read the title.

“Kinkan… Town?”

Oh. 

With a sigh Fakir opened his cursed book to the first page. Ruby red letters glowed on the paper, detailing his agreement.

  * _You will be the author for the story from this point on._
  * _As characters reach ‘crossways’ you are to decide their direction._
  * _You will keep your involvement with their lives secret._



Fakir read down to the most important part.

  * _Ahiru will be human at the start of midnight._
  * _Ahiru will no longer retain memories of the past story or her role as Princess Tutu._
  * _If Ahiru is made to remember the forbidden, she will turn into a duck without her previously gained human traits. Forever._



A shiver passed through him, his heart aching with words he never spoke. Slowly, he turned to the next page and watched the red writing well up. It detailed a snapshot of someone’s life there in Kinkan Town, and the current moment that faced them. In his mind he saw visions of what the future held in each direction. Something poked out the bottom of the book’s spine, a sharp quill begging to be drawn. 

Fakir pulled it out, and wrote his decision, his black writing flaring gold when he was done.

As it slowly faded back into the paper, so did his headache, and he found himself lulled to sleep with his injured hand still resting on the journal’s cover.

Drums echoed in his dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to post, especially since it ended up so short. I had this over halfway done, but it's been so hard to focus. Especially when I wrote Charon's part, Jesus take my heart pls. I've got a decent outline of where I'm going with this and how it ends though, so please just be patient with me. I've worked on it bit by bit in-between my new book. @~@ Part of my "distraction" so to say...

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I'm still pretty rusty at writing overall, but I'm gonna have confidence and GO FOR IT! Just be patient with me...  
> I hurt my heart with this fic.  
> Thank you for reading this idea I had to share. It was inspired by this art that started me spiraling down the path lol  
> http://blueberryhope.tumblr.com/post/145128721899/anon-i-thank-you-for-your-patience-this-is-a  
> I've already started work on the next chapter.


End file.
